


Nailed It!

by teuthidtransmitter



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: First Time, Getting Together, Hand porn, M/M, Nail Polish, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 22:33:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16168202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teuthidtransmitter/pseuds/teuthidtransmitter
Summary: Usually Ryan’s a big fan of the Buzzfeed craziness. He likes being in random videos, likes watching his co-workers do stupid stunts for the internet, but every once in a while he’s got a day where he deeply, deeply regrets working here.  Today is one of those days.  Because today Ryan’s job is trying to kink shame him.Shane gets roped into filming a video about dudes in nail polish and Ryan's reaction is pretty much "oh no, he's hot."





	Nailed It!

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is brought to you by my affinity for dudes in nail polish and the absolute knowledge that it's probably only a matter of time before Buzzfeed gives it to us. And on that day they will have to write in my eulogy: "Died of being a thirsty slut for Shane Madej's hands."

The thing about working for Buzzfeed is that you can never be totally sure what you’re going to walk into when you get to work in the morning.  Someone is always shooting some piece like “We Tried the Smelliest 5 Foods on Earth And Then Breathed on Strangers” or “Can You Actually Telepathically Link with Your Cat?”  

Usually Ryan’s a big fan of the Buzzfeed craziness. He likes being in random videos, likes watching his co-workers do stupid stunts for the internet, but every once in a while he’s got a day where he deeply, deeply regrets working here.  Today is one of those days. Because today Ryan’s job is trying to kink shame him. And it’s working.

*

 

Ryan throws his bag down at his desk Thursday just after lunch, mind already on the script he needs to work on for the next season of True Crime.  He flops into his chair, letting it spin in Shane’s direction.

“Hey, man, what’d you think abou--” Ryan’s words choke off as he literally does a double take.  If this was a cartoon, it would be accompanied by screeching tire sounds and a car crash sound effect, that’s how ridiculous it is.

“What do I think about what?  Come on man, mind reading is as fake as ghosts, you’ve got to use your words.” Shane smirks.

Ryan can’t even manage his usual ‘fuck you’ in response. Instead he says, “Uhhhhhh, so what’s that all about?”

“What?  These babies?” Shane gives a flirtatious little wave of the fingertips, showing off the black nail polish adorning them. “It’s a little too My Chemical Romance for my taste, but Sara said with the flannel it had a nice grunge vibe.  Like a hot rocker guy thing.”

Ryan internally curses Sara’s stupid perfect aesthetic sense.  Shane does kind of look like he should be rocking away at a bass guitar while strutting the stage.  You wouldn’t even notice his frankly goofy face with the nail polish pulling attention to his big, long-fingered hands.  Which Ryan is struggling not to stare at too obviously.

“...So Sara’s doing a nail polish video?” Ryan asks rather stupidly, feeling like he’s been hit over the head with an anvil.  Did someone plop him down in the middle of a Looney Tunes clip? Is he going to try to run out the door next only to find himself pedaling his legs over nothing but air, giving a sad wave to the fourth wall before plummeting with a whistle and distant boom?

“Yeah, her and Quinta and some of the others are doing a guys try makeup thing, this week is all nail art.  It’s super last minute, they just started. You missed the casting call this morning while you were at the dentist but I think next week is eye makeup if you wanna get in on that.  You could rock the eyeliner, flat iron your hair. We could form our own emo band!” Shane grins, probably imagining all the torture he could inflict on Ryan via social media if Ryan participated in this, which he has absolutely no intention of doing.

Ryan forces a laugh.  “Nah, man, my music taste is better than that.  I’ll leave the sad kids with guitars all to you.”

“You know you love it!  I heard you humming along last time we were in the car.”

“Lies and slander!” Ryan declares, turning to his computer as Shane chuckles.

*

 

Ryan spends the rest of the day struggling to keep his gaze on his computer when it so desperately wants to wander to Shane’s hands.  He keeps catching himself staring, the nail polish like a magnet his eyes can’t resist the pull of.

He’s always had a thing for Shane’s hands.  They’re great, big and long-fingered and expressive.  He’s always waving them around, grand gestures and emphasis.  When he’s not using them to supplement his talking, they’re never still, always tapping the table or steepled in front of his face.  It’s distracting.

After all this time of working with and next to Shane, Ryan’s learned to tune it out.  At least during the day. At night, when he’s jerking off, thinking of nothing, sometimes his mind will flip to Shane’s finger jabbing the desk as he lays out his arguments or the press of Shane’s fingertips on his back as he pushes Ryan towards the door.  The way he’ll wrap his fingers around Ryan’s wrist when Ryan is visibly freaking out during Supernatural filming. And then he’ll let his mind take him further. Imagine what those fingers would feel like wrapped around his dick. He tries not to let himself think about how much he secretly aches for that, wants Shane’s touch and Shane’s attention.  He always comes fast when he indulges those thoughts, but afterward he feels worse. Empty and echoing, like he’s a ghost himself, not able to make contact.

So yeah, Ryan’s thought about Shane’s hands before, extensively.  But he’s always been fine about separating the reality from fantasy, knows that Shane’s not interested. If anything was ever going to happen between them, it would have happened long ago and it’s not worth risking the show and their friendship to think about it too much.  So he’s usually able to keep it professional at work, only absently noting Shane’s hands for later, nighttime contemplation.

The nail polish is wreaking havoc with that delicate system.  He can’t stop looking, thoughts drifting to how those black nails would look pushing in and out of him. He tries to play it cool, but he notices Shane noticing him zoned out on his hands more than once.  

He’s distracted all day and is relieved when Sara comes to grab Shane to film the daily wrap up.

“Okay, we’re to do final thoughts on this look and then we can take it off,”  she says, leading Shane away. Shane still hasn’t finished by the time Ryan leaves.

He rushes home to jerk off desperately, body revved up from the day of frustration and half-hard the whole drive.  He calms down a little then, enough to watch some basketball, chill out on the couch for a while.

Laying in bed, struggling to sleep he thinks about it again.  Shane’s touch would be confident, because Shane is always weirdly sure of himself, calm in a way totally foreign to Ryan and his restless anxiety, the same that’s keeping him awake now.  Shane would stroke him hard and tight, his other hand raised to run fingers along Ryan’s lips, where Ryan would suckle them, bathing them with his tongue. Thoroughly wetting each before Shane removes them to reach back down past Ryan’s balls to press gently inside him, black polish disappearing little by little as he works his way in.  

Ryan’s fingers aren’t as long as Shane’s but he does his best and his imagination fills in the gaps.  The way they’d stroke and stretch until he comes, calling out helplessly.

When he finally does sleep, it’s with the relieved thought that Shane will be back to normal tomorrow and Ryan will be able to concentrate again.

*

 

Nope, nope, nope.  The universe is officially out to fuck him this week.  Shane’s nails are _not_ back to normal.  They’re also not the plain black polish of yesterday.  Someone, probably an actual professional nail artist, has given him long pointy acrylics, complete with an ombre slowly fading from dark grey to purple and little star decals.  They even match his lavender button-down.

Ryan literally chokes when Shane sits down next to him and he sees them.  He reaches for his water to settle the coughing that results. Shane reaches over and pounds him on the back.

“Hey man, you okay?”  

Ryan can feel the tips of the acrylics scratchy through his shirt and gives a full-body shudder, hoping Shane will think it’s a suppressed cough.  Shane’s touch has got his dick way too interested, trained as it is to Ryan’s nighttime escapades and not the reality of the normal bounds of friendliness.  He’s too busy thinking angry, naughty-dog scolding thoughts at it to respond, even as he struggles to get his breath back.

“Breathing should not be this difficult.  You need some remedial life lessons? We’ll start with breathing, move on to walking and breathing at the _same time._  That’s an advanced move, though, don’t worry if you don’t pick it up right away,” Shane mocks, but his hand on Ryan’s back, his awareness making Ryan feel like it’s about to burn right through and ignite the fire he feels in his face.  Then he shifts his hand to Ryan’s shoulder, squeezing a bit before letting go.

Oh no, no no nope.  Ryan’s losing the dick battle and this is about to get embarrassing.   He jumps up from his seat, babbles something about needing water (his water bottle is full and currently in his hand), and walks away at a pace he hopes doesn’t look as much like a scurry as it feels.  Shane’s eyes follow him as he retreats.

In the bathroom, Ryan spends 20 minutes talking himself down before he’s calm enough to leave.  He only returns to his desk long enough to grab his laptop and headphones. He tells Shane he’s going to edit some footage up in HQ, studiously avoiding looking at him as he gathers his stuff.  He doesn’t go to headquarters though. It would be too easy for Shane to find him there and Ryan just can’t deal. With anything.

Instead, he spends the rest of the morning in an older, slightly run-down studio usually only used by interns, trying to work and trying _not_ to think about Shane.  It’s not that successful.  He eventually ventures out when hunger drives him to at least risk the trip to the vending machines for a sad, processed lunch of pop-tarts and chips.  On his way back to his hiding spot though he runs into Sara.

“Heyyyy, Ryan,” she looks awfully cheerful for someone complicit in currently ruining his life. “Where have you been hiding today?  I feel like I’ve barely seen you.”

She doesn’t wait for him to answer before she continues.  “You know the makeup video thing we’re doing? We need reaction shots for what other people think of the makeup!  You wanna come tell us how you like Shane’s nails?”

“Uh, no, no, sorry, I’m really busy today.  I barely even noticed Shane’s nails! Did you guys do something with them?” Ryan is overplaying it.  He can tell by the sneaky smile creeping over Sara’s face. Luckily she lets it go.

“Okay, hope the work goes fast.  You’ll be at the bar tonight though right?  You can’t miss it, it’s Curly’s birthday! He’ll give you shit forever if you bail.  Plus it’ll be super fun!”

“Sure, yeah, of course...I’ll be there,” Ryan sputters out without thinking, just happy to not get interrogated over his weak excuses.  He needs to get back to his solitary cave where he can drown in his denial in private.

He manages to break away with a “Definitely.  I’ll see you there.”

By 5pm he’s actually looking forward to it.  He’s tense and frustrated with a long day of solitary work and mental struggle.  He had eventually slunk back to his desk in time to see Sara and Quinta come grab Shane away to film the end of their segment and he remembers that they’ll be taking the fingernails off when they’re done.  It’s a huge weight off him. Ryan can deal with his usual background attraction to Shane, it’s just the nails that have suddenly launched him into awkward teenage boner territory. With Shane back to normal, a party and the obligatory freely flowing booze is just the thing to blow off this whole crazy week and celebrate Ryan’s new resolution to never ever think sexy thoughts again at work.  Maybe never again in his life.

*

 

Ryan cannot believe the universe is continuing to betray him this way.  He’s always tried to be nice to children and small animals, never littered, so he just doesn’t think this kind of karmic retribution is at a fair level for what he’s put out there into the world.  Because he definitely doesn’t deserve to be faced again with Shane in those long, fantasy-inducing fingernails when he’s already this drunk.

He’s had several, maybe many, celebratory shots with Curly, he can feel them taking a toll on his self control, especially followed up as they’ve been with two glasses of overly-sweet, astoundingly-alcoholic drinks that the bar has on special.  Curly has declared them to be his special birthday drink, although it’s really just a Friday-night, here’s-all-the-leftover-junk mix, and named them Curly’s Convivial Coconut Coolers, a name he’s having increasing difficulty pronouncing now that’s he’s on his third glass.  Ryan’s pretty sure they don’t even have coconut in them, that Curly was just going for alliteration. They taste more like a pink jolly rancher and are a delicate peachy color.

But back to the problem at hand, which is _Shane’s_ hands.  They’re still sporting their spiky witch nails, which Ryan really wasn’t counting on and now he’s intoxicated and even more unable to keep his dirty, dirty thoughts under control.

Shane was late, stuck finishing the filming, so he’s a few drinks behind Ryan, but settled loose and floppy-limbed beside him at the bar.  Ryan’s been able to fake normal, trading jokes, laughing with everyone else over Curly’s loud enthusiastic excitement for a celebration, especially one in his name.  Somehow the others drift away, leaving them alone at the bar, a sudden silence between them.

Ryan is losing his focus without the aid of conversation, getting lost in the shape of Shane’s knuckles, tapering down to slim, long fingers.  Shane taps his fingers against his empty glass, one at a time, starting with the index, going down the line and then back up. He catches Ryan looking as the bartender returns, twisting towards him to check if he needs a refill, which Ryan does, apparently having drained his drink without noticing.  It explains why he feels so loose and unconcerned, even though he knows Shane sees him looking, literally caught with his lower lip bitten between his teeth.

“You cool, man?  You seem a little distracted the past couple days.”

Ryan can feel how wide and blown his eyes are, he’s got that floaty, energized feeling of lots of drinks in not a lot of time, but he can’t really care right now, it just feels so good to not be tied up by the nets of his own tangled thoughts.  All his usual insecurities and second thoughts and third thoughts and anxiety loose somewhere in the stratosphere, leaving him free and easy. Which is why, when Shane catches him looking, he blurts out, “It’s just unfair.”

Shane looks confused, weird eyebrows drawn in comically over his big nose.  He shouldn’t look as good as he does, but there’s something about the way his face moves, constantly shifting expressions.  Goofy and over-the-top, but compelling. Especially when he laughs.

“I mean, a normal job wouldn’t throw this shit at me.  My cousin’s an accountant and I don’t think he’s ever had to work through the discovery of a new kink in front of all his co-workers.”

There it is. Head thrown back like it’s the best thing he’s ever heard, eyes all squinted up but looking at Ryan, always with a little disbelief mixed into the admiration, like he’s always impressed Ryan managed to surprise him again.  The disbelief is pretty strong this time.

“Ryan, Ryan, Ryan. You want to talk about BuzzFeed’s inappropriate workplace behavior? Cause that was all you setting a new land-speed record over the line and off into space.” He jokes but there's an edge there, Shane’s actually lost a little bit of his unflappability when he asks, voice pitched low and with a catch in it that’s not normally there, “So the nails are really doing it for you huh?” He hesitates like he’s Ryan about to walk into a haunted house, held back by his own fears. “Like the girls to scratch you up a bit?”

The uncertainty in his voice, so unusual for a guy who always has a snappy remark, who can take apart Ryan's theories with a single condescending factoid - well, it makes Ryan want to push. Drunk Ryan's not good at boundaries, obviously, and the conversation, drinks, and the presence of Shane’s hands and what that's doing to him combine to catapult him into an all new mindset. One where's he's not only down to reveal a new sexual fantasy to a co-worker, but also eager to seduce said co-worker despite all the reasonable objections his sober brain would have to offer.

“Nah, I’ve never really cared with the girls I dated.  But there’s something about the - the jusstapostion” (nailed it) “You know, delicate nails, when your hands are so big.”

Shane’s looking a little shell-shocked.  Ryan’s building momentum now, so he reaches out to Shane’s hand where it lays on the bar, runs one finger along the seam where the acrylic nail connects with Shane’s cuticle, then down to the point, which he circles lightly before pressing the sharp tip into the pad of his finger.  He glances back up at Shane.

“I’d let you scratch me up though.”

Shane lets out a long shakey breath.  “Jesus, Ryan. Are you - are you serious?”  He collects himself a little more, smirks, “Literally propositioning me to scratch your itch?”  Ryan can see him turning this into a joke, closing off and ready to gloss over it. “I never knew you were su-”

“Yeah.” Ryan cuts in, trying to project an air of seriousness and sobriety, even though he’s blasted.  “Yes. Shane. I’m serious, I’m asking.” And he leans in further, puts a hand high on Shane’s thigh, close enough to tell that Shane’s dick at least is definitely following this conversation with interest, and squeezes.  Shane chokes back a sound in his throat that might have been a moan if he’d let it free.

“What’s your answer?”

“...Okay, yeah, okay.  I mean - fucking- of course Ryan.  That’s not a question I was ever prepared to refuse.” Shane’s words have a weight Ryan can’t parse right now.  Now that he’s sure Shane is on board, his mind is racing ahead to having those hands on his body, scratching and caressing and he doesn’t have room in his brain for analyzing the spaces between the words. He grabs Shane’s wrist.

“All right, come on let’s go then!” he grins, hopping off his barstool, pulling Shane off-balance enough that he trips out of his seat, huffing a laugh.

“Where are we even going Ryan?  We’re at a bar surrounded by everyone we work with.  You better not be taking us to the bathrooms, cause that’s just unsanitary.” he says as Ryan weaves them towards the back hallway.

“No, no, no.  Come on trust me.”  Ryan leads them past the bathrooms, where there’s a heavy exit door, the kind that it looks like leads outside.

“Oh, great, like the alley is better?” Shane snarks nervously, although Ryan can’t help but notice there’s a shake to his voice and it wasn’t actually a no.  He tries to pin it down for later, although his thoughts are fluttering all over.

“Have some faith, man.” He pushes open the door, shoves Shane in and ducks inside himself.  Inside it’s dim, high small windows just letting in a bit of diffuse light from the streetlamps outside and the exit light casting them in a weird red glow.  The bar must be using it for extra storage, there’s boxes of stirrers and paper napkins stacked up against the wall.

“There used to be another bar adjoining this one, but it closed a few months ago.  I found it the other day, looking for the back door.”

Shane’s shifting nervously, eyeing the door like maybe he’s having second thoughts, so Ryan doesn’t give him the chance to reply.  He reaches up and grabs the collar of Shane’s pink oxford and pulls him down so he can kiss him hard on the mouth.

Shane makes a little surprised ‘mmm-mm’ noise and then presses into it, slipping his tongue into Ryan’s mouth at the same time he brings his hands up to Ryan’s hips, tips of his nails scratching as he forgets to be careful with them.  Ryan rewards him with a groan into his mouth.

Then Shane is pushing him back into the wall to grind into him so Ryan can feel his dick hard against his through the layers of their clothes, Ryan’s shoulders pressed back, head thunking against the wood panelling because he’s not willing to break from kissing Shane to soften it.  He’s disappointed when Shane breaks it anyway.

“Sorry,” he says with a voice gone thick and low.  Then he brings one hand up to cup the back of Ryan’s head softly where he knocked it against the wall.

When Ryan unzips him, undoing his own pants at the same time to give his dick a little room, and shoves his hand down into his pants to grab Shane’s dick, his hand abruptly tightens in Ryan’s hair, raking him with the sharp nails in a way that leaves Ryan panting.

“F-fuuuuuck, Shane.  Keep doing that. Come on, scratch me up a little like you said.  Mark me-- make it so I can’t forget.” Shane bucks into his hand, dick twitching and it makes Ryan’s hand slip into a rhythm without his conscious control.

“Ryan, shit, Ryan.  You can’t just say this shit.  You’re killing me here.”

Ryan laughs into Shane’s rucked up collar, taking a second to nip and suck at his neck where his shirt has twisted to leave it free before answering. Shane grips his waist hard, nails digging in just like Ryan’s been hoping for.

“Want me to tell you about Wednesday?  When I saw you with nail polish that first day I couldn’t stop thinking about it.  I couldn’t take my eyes off your hands all day-”

“Saw you looking.  But I didn’t know.” Shane is breathing hard, hips working in time with Ryan’s hand in the steady pace he’s set, every once in a while breaking to thumb around the crown, pulling moisture down from the slit to ease the roughness of his grip.  His hand is forgotten still in Ryan’s hair, fingers clenching slightly and relaxing, skating his nails against Ryan’s scalp in a way that’s driving him crazy.

“When I went home I fingered myself thinking about your hands.  About watching your painted nails disappear inside me slowly while I worked to take your fingers.  You have such long fingers, huge knuckles. It wasn’t the same doing it to myself but I tried to imagine what they’d feel like inside me.”

“Ryan, fuck, Ryan, Ry” Shane whole body shudders as he comes in Ryan’s hand.  Ryan wastes no time in using his come-covered hand to slick up his own cock.

“I could watch you do that forever” Shane groans, eyes blown wide taking in Ryan’s hand moving rapidly over his dick.  “But since these nails aren’t exactly accommodating to your -extremely vivid- fantasy unless you also have an emergency room fetish, I think I’ll take over.”

Ryan somewhat reluctantly removes his hand, and is instantly rewarded when Shane places both hands on his chest and runs them down, nails scratching hard at first and then coming down to a scratchy tickle as he teases them over Ryan’s lower stomach.  He brings one fingertip lightly to the tip of Ryan’s dick, jutting hard and obscene between them.

“Shane, please, come on, touch me.” Ryan bites out, struggling to keep his hips still and not impale himself on Shane’s sexy but oh-so-dangerous nails.

Shane obliges, wrapping his hand carefully around Ryan’s shaft.  His grip isn’t as firm as Ryan would usually use, too impeded by the long acrylics, but the sight of them makes up for it, Ryan’s already so close he can feel it gathering in the tightness of his balls.  

“Fuck, Shane, that’s so good.  So hot.” He pants, watching his own dick covered and enveloped in Shane’s big hand.  Shane brings his other hand back up under his shirt, scratches down between his pecs hard, probably leaving red marks behind and that’s it for Ryan.  He bites at his own wrist to quiet the noises he makes as he comes.

As he comes down, Shane keeps running his nails, very lightly, up over his chest, along his neck, back into his hair.  It’s sexy and comforting at the same time, as is the gentle kiss Shane presses to his forehead before pulling away.

 He makes a grossed-out face at his hand, wet with Ryan’s semen, looks around, but can’t seem to figure out what to do with it.

Ryan, giggling like the drunk fool he is, fumbles in the cardboard boxes propped up a few feet away and pulls out a wad of paper cocktail napkins, hands them to Shane.  They try to re-settle their clothes, make it look like they didn’t just exchange hand jobs before walking back out to the bar filled with their friends and co-workers.

Ryan’s feeling a little wobbly, alcohol still keeping him riding high, but tired too from the aftermath of sex.  He stumbles a little as they slip out the door, Shane’s hand rests warm and solid on his lower back before they separate, Ryan heading back to the bar, while Shane beelines to the bathroom.  

Ryan’s sobering up enough to feel a little pang of worry, suddenly aware that he and Shane haven’t spoken a word about this that wasn’t dirty talk and haven’t said anything since leaving the back room.  Is that weird? Or is he thinking too much about it and making it weird?

Ryan really just wants to stop thinking about it, relax back into the flow of drunk post-coital oneness with the world.  So he does a shot, then another in quick succession.

Shane doesn’t come back until Ryan’s moved from the bar to a table, talking basketball with Zack.  The bar is back to a spin-y blurred cheer and Ryan’s not really thinking about anything, just giddy with tequila and happiness.

He thinks he remembers pulling Shane out onto the floor later, watching him wacky-man his arms around in what passes for suburban white-guy dancing.  

After that he sort of loses the flow of time.  He’s back in his apartment, chugging as much water as he can hold, stumbling to bed, throwing his clothes off as he goes.  He catches sight of the red scratches down his chest and feels a pleased warmth suffuse him before he sinks into sleep.

*

_Drunk Ryan is an idiot_ , the current, hangover-y version of Ryan thinks, and vows never to let him out again.  Of course, that’s contingent on his surviving this hangover, which he really wishes he wouldn’t.  The grim reaper should consider himself formally invited to drop by anytime, preferably in the next 5 minutes, before Ryan’s bladder forces him to actually get up and leave the relative safety of his bed.

His head feels stretched, like it’s slowly swelling bigger and bigger until it will pop like a zit and his mouth tastes like death itself came and left a flaming bag of poop on the doorstep of his tongue. He’s caught between embarrassment and awe at the memories of the night before.  He’s pretty foggy about everything that happened after he started dancing, but he’s vividly clear on what he got up to with Shane last night and he’s both impressed with drunk-Ryan’s moxie and lightly panicked.

He’s not sure what this means for Shane and his relationship.  Was it a one-off? He had been pretty aggressive last night, and Shane was drunk, even if not quite as drunk as Ryan himself had been.  

Ryan fumbles around for his phone to see if he’d sent any regrettable drunk texts or maybe if Shane had, but it was dead, lying inches from the charging cord on his bedside table of course.  

He couldn’t think about it clearly with his head banging and stomach twisting, so he crept gingerly around the apartment for the rest of the day, avoiding his roommates to hole up in his room, alternating between napping and binge-watching Netflix.  Around 3pm he finally felt okay enough to eat something, even if all he could deal with making was scrambled eggs and toast. But while he was up he grabbed his phone off the charger and saw he had a text from Shane.

 

**You feeling okay today man?  You were pretty wasted last night.**

 

Ryan didn’t know what to make of that.  No mention of the mutual handjobs in a way to close to public place, nothing to indicate whether Shane wants a repeat or even wants to acknowledge it.  

He spends 20 minutes arguing with himself and typing and re-typing answers, trying to find some way to indicate to Shane that he wants to do it again without saying so outright and leaving him open to awkwardness if Shane’s not into it.  Eventually, realizing that if Shane’s looked at his phone, he’ll have seen the “Read at 3:37pm” and that’s a dick move Ryan doesn’t want to commit to even accidentally, he settles on sending something back even if he’s not happy with it.

 

**Yeah, feeling rough this morning... but it was a fun night…**

 

He feels really stupid about those hinting little ellipses immediately upon sending the message.  Especially when all he gets back is a:

 

**It’s not morning anymore you heathen.**

 

And then a side by side picture of an elaborately decorated cupcake and then what looks like the same cupcake if it had been partially melted and run over by a bike.  He assumes it’s a commentary on his hungover state, because he certainly feels like the second cupcake.

More-so as the weekend goes on and he gets no communication from Shane a series of weird Pinterest fails copy-pasted from the internet.  His feelings are the sadly drooping buttercream, he decides, his heart the smashed cake, resigned to the knowledge that Shane’s not interested in more.  If he was, he’d have said something, invited Ryan over, flirted a little in text. He definitely would be doing something different, not the same dada-esque text communication that’s been a staple of their friendship since they did Test Friends together.  

So Ryan locks his hope away before walking into work on Monday. And it’s fine.  They work next to each other, throw jokes back and forth the same as always, although Ryan wishes now they weren’t the kind of friends who touch casually.  Even without the fingernails, he can’t help but twitch when their fingers brush together as Shane passes him a coffee cup or rests a hand on Ryan’s shoulder as he leans over him to look at a screen, pulling questions from twitter to read in tomorrow’s postmortem.

 He ducks out early on Monday, desperate for the excruciatingly long day to be over, but on Tuesday Shane corners him before he can escape the office.

“Hey Ryan, what’s the rush?” he asks, hand wrapped warmly around Ryan’s bicep, holding him in place.  Ryan can feel his ears heating up, remembering that hand wrapped around something else.

“We haven’t gotten to hang out since Friday.  You wanna come over tonight? Spooky movies and popcorn?”  Shane smiles, but there’s tension in his eyes. Ryan thinks its the strain to act like everything is normal between them, can’t deal with it through hours of sitting close on Shane’s couch, trying to act casual when he feels anything but.  He invents an excuse, low feeling in his chest sinking lower when he sees Shane’s face drop in disappointment. Ryan’s not usually much for self-preservation and if this is the result, he can’t see himself making a habit of it. Disappointing Shane is almost as bad as sharing popcorn with him, watching the grease sheen on his lips and remembering what it felt like to fit themselves together.  Almost as bad, but that slim margin seems like a vital separation when Ryan lays in bed that night, aching with a longing he can’t get away from.

*

 

He doesn’t see Shane the next morning before their postmortem shoot, but he has a text from him saying he’ll meet him in Ghoul HQ when it’s time to record, so he doesn’t think much of it. They’re both busy with other projects sometimes and postmortem shoots are easy, just them answering questions, a tripod and Teej to work it, nothing like the work or coordination that goes into a location shoot.  

He gets there before Shane, settles in behind the desk with his sheet of questions.  By the time Shane slumps in, hands tucked into his sweatshirt pocket, TJ’s set up with the camera and they’re ready to roll.  They work their way through the questions, bantering back and forth. Shane’s a little less animated than usual, hands tucked away into a sweatshirt that’s too warm for LA weather.

The last question is one Shane picked out, commenter pointing out a moment on film when Shane looked a little too long into the dark while Ryan’s talking through various ghost activity in the room.  The fans are always looking for him showing fear. Shane breaks in, leaning forward with a wicked grin.

“You know, everyone’s always trying to catch me out … some of you saying maybe Ryan’s little stories have got me spooked.  Well, I just want you to know, as ...vivid… as his fantasies can be, I still ain’t afraid of no ghosts.” He lays his hands out flat on the desk, leaning in like the force of his body language will convince the fans, and on each wide, flat finger is a little Ghostbusters decal, stark against a gloss black background.  He shoots a gleeful, sparkling smile at Ryan before settling back into his usual slouch.

“Well, if that’s settled, I think we’ll move on to everyone’s favorite food based cartoon, that’s right it’s time for the Hot Daga!”

Ryan is dazed, staring at Shane’s hands and then back up to his face for the rest of the segment.  Luckily, the fans are used to him zoning out during the Hot Daga and the animations will cover the rest, because he’s having trouble with controlling his face.  He thinks it’s doing something surprised and pleased, but he’s not sure his brain has caught up with it yet.

When they finally call cut and TJ has packed up he turns to Shane, Shane is looking at him intently, edgy.  “What’d you say Ryan?”

“I thought- you didn’t say anything- I thought you weren’t interested in doing this again.”

Shane shakes his head, sadly.  “ _Ry_ an, come on.  How dense are you?  I’ve been flirting all week, trying to get you on board.”

“What?? No you haven’t!”

“I’ve been making excuses to touch you, brought you coffee, tried to invite you over for ‘movie night’” He makes sarcastic air quotes and Ryan’s eyes are drawn again to his nails.  “Yeah, I mean this is my last blatant effort here, Ry guy. I mean, you didn’t respond to my hilarious flirting texts, but you can be kind of dense, so I figured I’d give this a go.”

Ryan doesn’t get what he means about the texts, but he’s kind of getting the hint that maybe he’s been a bit clueless the last few days.

“So, you really want-?  I thought maybe for you it was just a one-time, we-were-drunk thing.”  Ryan says, laying out all his cards with his heart in his throat. “And I want, I don’t think it can be just that for me.”

“Ryan.” Shane admonishes, in the tone he reserves for when Ryan’s done something especially stupid, but face soft and open. “ I told you...anything you ask, I’m never going to refuse.  I just never thought before that this would be something you’d ask for. But as much as you’ll give me, that’s what I’ll take.”

“I...want to give you -everything, just anything.  But what if we fuck this up?” Ryan waves his arms, encompassing them, Ghoul HQ, meaning this: our friendship, our work, everything we already have.  But he’s already leaning in, as long as Shane’s with him, he’s ready to risk it all. Shane’s smiling, like he can already hear Ryan’s yes.

“Weren’t you listening, buddy?  I just said...I ain’t afraid…” Shane’s mouth twists as he can’t contain the laughter at the cheesy line.  Ryan sputters into laughter too, it really was too corny, even though it makes his whole chest feel like he’s melting with soft warm feelings.  He’s still laughing into it as Shane’s lips cover his and that feels right too, the laughter and banter that already defines their relationship stretching to welcome this new dimension of them, together.

Shane pulls away to murmur against his lips, “Just to be clear, this better not be all about the nails.  Cause I am not spending this much time at a manicurist every time I want to touch your dick.”

 


End file.
